Mark Patinkin: Anybody seen my huggy-pillow?

Tuesday

Sep 17, 2013 at 12:01 AM

You know what’s never a good idea while running for office? Admitting quirks. Cory Booker, the 44-year-old mayor of Newark, recently got in a jam by doing it. He’s the Democratic nominee in New Jersey’s...

You know what’s never a good idea while running for office?

Admitting quirks.

Cory Booker, the 44-year-old mayor of Newark, recently got in a jam by doing it. He’s the Democratic nominee in New Jersey’s special U.S. Senate race and last year said an ex-girlfriend turned him onto something quirky. For a guy, anyway.

“Mani-pedis.”

That was Booker’s phrase. Ever since, he’s been into them.

“It’s this guilty pleasure I have,” he explained.

A few weeks ago, Booker’s opponent, Steve Lonegan, brought it up, calling it a “fetish,” and then said this: “I like a good Scotch and a cigar; that’s my fetish.”

Sounds to me like Lonegan’s compensating for something. But my intention here is not to weigh in on New Jersey’s senate election — it’s to say Booker’s mani-pedi comment performed a service. He helped legitimize something many people feel compelled to hide.

Quirks.

We all have them. Usually secretly. But in the spirit of making it okay to be a little weird, I’m today going to own up to some of my own.

Start with one I do every morning after I wake up. You can tell because I start to yell angrily, using phrases like, “God all freakin’ mighty.” Then, for 30 seconds or so, I scream curse words.

That’s how long I put myself through my morning quirk:

Ending a normal shower with an ice-cold blast.

But it’s a better wake-up than any cup of coffee.

Six or eight hours before, I have an opposite quirk — an almost diva-like indulgence. I sleep with a huggy pillow. Of course, one huggy-pillow isn’t that quirky.

But for years, I’ve slept with four. Five if you count the regular pillow. I hug one, put a second between my knees, a third against my back, and a forth to rest my downside arm on.

One reason I can’t let myself commit any crimes is I doubt maximum security provides four huggy pillows in cells. But I couldn’t survive without them.

Everyone, of course, has food quirks, but mine are especially out there, like the way I’ll gnaw a mouthful of Cherry Garcia ice cream like a dog direct from the just-opened carton. Then I chase it with a shot of whipped cream right into the mouth. Saves on dishes, too. It’s one of the joys of living alone. You couldn’t do that with your spouse around.

I also dip Edy’s strawberry fruit bars into Strawberry Carnation Instant Breakfast powder, which, by the way, I put on watermelon, too. And I need — not want, need — apricot jelly to add tang to everything from pasta sauce to tuna. I can’t believe anyone doesn’t.

Then there’s my gum thing. You know those big E-Paks with about 70 pieces designed to last for weeks? I can go through one in an hour. Sometimes, I’m offended when people ask if it’s a nervous habit. I’m offended because it’s obvious. Of course it’s a nervous habit. But it’s more than that — it’s a quirk.

I do realize these might get me labeled as strange. That’s what Steve Lonegan tried to imply about Cory Booker.

Which brings up a serious point about quirks.

It’s a point best addressed, I think, by Gary Cooper in the movie, “Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.” In the key courtroom scene, greedy types after his money try to paint him as incompetent because he did quirky things, primarily playing the tuba to help him think.

Cooper, as Mr. Deeds, finally takes the stand and answers this way:

“Everybody does something silly when they’re thinking. For instance, the judge here is an O-filler. You fill in all the spaces in the O’s with your pencil.” He goes on to say the psychiatrist is a doodler. And adds: “Everybody does something different: Some people are ear-pullers; some are nail-biters; that Mr. Semple over there is a nose-twitcher. And the lady next to him is a knuckle-cracker.”

He sums up: “Everybody does silly things to help them think. Well, I play the tuba.”

It’s worth keeping in mind the next time you judge someone for their quirks.